Stay
by Cocoleia
Summary: Chris and Piers are roommates. Piers gets to know he is terminally ill which is likely to stir things in life. P/C.
1. Chapter 1

"So- Piers, what we have here is- excuse me."

Doctor–I didn't catch his name- suddenly hides his face behind the computer screen that is standing on the desk right in front of him. He is typing something with one of his hands, while he's using the other to form a wavering gesture at me.

And to be honest, I don't have any idea of what it means. Perhaps I haven't been attentive enough, or maybe I'm just so tired- and in pain, actually, that I can't make anything sound.

Perhaps what he wanted to say by that gesture was that I'm in the wrong place- that I should leave, that I'm not having some kind of silly infection and neither am I gonna inherit grandpa's disease, or whatever even was the reason I got here in the first place.

I bring a hand to feel at where they put the needles, the pain burns parts of my arm, but at least it's a sure thing to keep me awake for a while longer.

I still want out though- get home.

So I start raising up from this god-awfully uncomfortable chair, support myself with both hands on the armrests- make quite more of an effort than I usually would, until I am eventually standing up.

"Where are you going, Piers?"

Things were going really well, or at least I think they did, until "doctor unknown" chooses to lay his attention on me, practically leaving me with no other choice than having my back aching from this chair again.

And I don't even fully know why that's the case, really. Perhaps I'm back to feeling like a child who just got caught doing something again, though I know this is far from being a scenario like that.

Well, at least doctor unknown seems to appreciate me staying around for a while longer, nodding his head towards me in approval before he glances at the computer screen again- quite briefly, before he turns it towards my direction and starts pointing at what it shows.

"These are the radiographs from the scan we did today," He looks at me through what feels like a quite tiny glance, as if he's making sure of that I'm following the things he's telling me- that I'm even watching the screen.

Which I'm not, anyway. I don't get why I have to see it- frankly, I don't even get what is what on the picture, or whatever it is he's claiming that to be.

I still nod in agreement, though, because maybe- _maybe_ I would look stupid otherwise.

"That is the spine, and what you see there is- well, a tumor." He continues- stops, and this time he's doubtlessly locking his eyes on me.

I swallow hard- so hard it's probably audible, I guess my head is still bringing those ridiculous nods that I don't even approve of myself- I don't know why I'm doing it, and I don't want to do it.

Some terrible noise is growing larger in my ears- I believe it's coming from the ceiling fan, or perhaps the fan of the computer. I don't really care which it is, all I know for sure is that, soon that damned thing is all I am able to hear, and I want it gone, because it's _sincerely annoying_ and least said seeking all of my attention with success.

"We are going to start treatment as soon as possible, if you feel like there is something you need to know all you have to do is ask."

I take in a deep breath- open my mouth, close it yet again- not because I feel that I have something to say, really, but to fight my sudden, overtaking, urge to jump something and tear it down to pieces.

I should- perhaps, worry for the doctor's sake, but I don't. Instead I- once again, let myself up from where I'm currently sitting to stand up, gaze down at where the man- looking quite goofy- come to think of it, still is sitting on his office chair, rotating it to a level that is almost irritating to watch.

"Wait- before you leave," the doctor says- almost as if he has forgotten something, while he turns his chair to pull out a piece of paper and a colorful pen from one of the drawers on the desk before he writes something very quickly on the note, stares at it intently- yet momentarily, and hands it to me, though not releasing it yet.

"This is the number you call if there is anything you need from us. You should expect me to call you to make a new appointment in the following days." He continues, eyes digging into me so deeply that I almost don't dare do any motions.

I stare at the numbers that fill the paper- struggle to read it all until I get stopped somewhere about halfways by both my own fingers and the doctor's fingers, as if we are battling over who will eventually get that scrambled paper-bit.

I'm actually fully ready to let go of it- let him have it already, tell him how weird this is- that I _simply don't care_ for it, when he does exactly that- well, the first part he does, and I almost trip backwards in all suddenness.

I straighten up, slightly roll my shoulders- recover from it quite quickly, and scrambles the piece of paper in my hand as I put it in one of the pockets in the back of my pants, turning my back against everything I was recently looking at- making myself ready to leave.

"And, _Piers_- know that we have a lot of specialists at this hospital- psychologists and social workers who may help you get through this easier."

Without looking back I go the distance to the door- through the door, even, and don't stop walking until I've fumbled up the car keys and am sitting in my- _Chris_-who have no idea of where I've been's, car.

I stare through the windshield as I go. He can't know. Yet.

It's dark outside- probably past 5 pm- at least, he's usually home at this time of the day, and this time, I just don't know if that's a good thing or not. Probably not, I'd say.

I nervously start drumming the steering wheel, leaning for the button that pulls down the car window beside me, which lets rain instantly hit my face, making it hard not to blink.

I let go of trying to hold it together, and something else is definitely- directly, dripping along those raindrops. I would probably just never admit it- well, not with anyone around I wouldn't, _that_ I'm fully sure of.

While having parked the car, I sigh deeply, press my left thumb against my right cheek and wipe off everything that has flowed down upon it. I make sure there are no signs of crying- or whatever, before I step out of the car, slam the car dorr behind me, and start walking towards the apartment.

Once I've got up the stairs and am now standing by the front door I put the keys in, do a few turns before I let the door open slowly- almost cautiously, actually, and step in.

I wait for a few seconds in the hallway- I guess I'm prepared for Chris to show up. It's very quiet in here, yet about every light is turned on.

When he doesn't come I instead choose to unzip my boots and my jacket and go into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water for my dry and quite sore throat. I never get to the kitchen- though, until I hear the bathroom door open and there is where my gaze is being lead.

"Piers?" Chris comes out of the bathroom with his short hair dripping, making it quite obvious that he has been showering. "You just got home?" He walks closer, smiling a bit at first but then just dropping it abruptly for some reason. "Where were you? You're soaking wet."

I already know he's right though he pulls away a wet strand of hair that has fallen down to lie tightly against my face to make his purpose clearer. He's always that careful- sort of protective, with me.

"It's raining outside, Chris." I say calmly with my eyes half closed as I pass him by to the living room. He's right behind my heels along the way as I sit down on the sofa and he does the same thing.

"You were out for a while, Piers, you must have went somewhere. I mean-"

"Well, I did some grocery shopping." I finally say, interrupting him, looking at him- and will probably regret it as I don't feel less numb once I've said it.

"Really? So the fridge isn't empty anymore?" Chris says, throwing himself against the backrest of the sofa- humming contently.

"Actually- I must have forgot the bags in the car." I mumble.

Unexpectedly- Chris starts bursting into a laughter, and I don't really know how to react on it.

"Oh god- Piers, alright, just don't forget that you did, it won't be very pleasant having a smell of rotten vegetables in the trunk." he says between his laughter- rubbing his eyes intently.

"Nah, I guess it wouldn't." I say- I watch him, and I pull on a smile.

Perhaps he would have laughed this much- been this happy, though he would have known.

I keep watching him, I don't know if I'm still smiling but I'm watching him. And he is watching me back at the moment. Right into the eye. He looks quite concerned. I raise from my seat on the couch.

"Hey- what is it?" He stops me by laying his hand around my wrist.

"I'm tired." I say sleepily, when I'm actually not so tired at all.

He releases me, I look back at him slightly- try to give him an assuring look, or something like that, so that he won't have to look that troubled, before I start heading to the bedroom- unfortunately not even hearing the last part of what he's saying.

* * *

_A/N: (Couldn't really come up with a description or anything, so.. and there's probably lots of errors- my fault, my apologies!) And I'm still doing the other story, I have just had- well, have a lot and this sort of popped into my mind or something. Anyway. If you've been reading it- thanks, F/F are always appreciated and so are reviews! :)_


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, I wake up to Chris coming into my room with- something that smells like breakfast, at least- jumping into my bed from behind so hard that it rattles, whispering "_morning, sunshine,"_ in my ear, lightly and- perhaps intentionally- probably _jokingly_, even- sweet.

I still believe- and it happens every time, and he does this about _every_ day- that I do blush at it, though. Then- while I do, I always tend to turn farther away from him to bury my face into the cushions- delve in it and maybe- hopefully, I am convincing in making him believe that this is just my way of waking up, as it also is- partially.

And, as always when I do _that_, Chris instantly tugs at my shoulder for me to turn around, hot breath nuzzling against my skin as he's telling me "_come on, sleepyhead, get up- you've slept long enough.", _which I already know he's got a point in-protesting against doing it isn't the reason I'm doing this, but- of course, he doesn't know. I obviously know that I will have to get up- turn around, at least, eventually- and I guess in a few seconds or so- when the blushing has- possibly, wore off, I will.

And- yeah, I know there is a small chance I shouldn't have to act out like this- but just a _small_, because I don't exactly know how normal or how _strange_ it is to _blush_- and that's pretty much just one of quite many things- actually, in response to his actions. It's not like we are- well, like _that_, or anything- he would never- I mean- we are roommates, friends- _more_ than friends, I'd say- on my part, definitely, but, no- not like that.

I stop holding back against him, and he flips me over to his side on my bed with such force- such an unexpected strength, that even he, himself, bursts "_woah_- sorry,", still holding me locked tightly in his grip, facing me closely- probably to see how I have reacted, it looks like, at least- sort of.

I stare back at him, with my eyes wide open, my face still feeling warm, and my hair- most likely looking completely hideous, as he just, starts smiling at me- carefree, as I usually see it, and completely unaware.

I hesitate- I turn down my gaze- but eventually, I smile back at him- stiffly as hell, probably, and not anything like it has always been before, but at least it's not forced on this time.

I'm just glad some things- like being with him like this in the mornings, so far, are still the same.

He lets go of my arms and breaks our eye contact as he turns away slightly, and I'm not sure if he is about to leave or if he is just giving me a second to sit up in the bed. Whatever it is, I don't want him to go yet, so I start sitting up- I straighten up, too- bend a little backwards, until pain stabs me in my back- rebukes me, and teaches me not to- and it's a goddamn hurting one, too, for that matter.

I am almost sure I'm actually about to scream at that point- but I don't. I tilt my head back slightly- hopefully holding everything back quite decently while I- thank god- can feel how it's wearing off.

I pull a deep breath, the bed is creaking on my right side and I am suddenly aware of his presence and why I would even do what I just did- why I would try so _hard_ not to show anything, when that would- actually, have been a pretty silly thing to do otherwise.

I don't know if he is watching me, since I- somehow, can't bear to look at his direction- I am instead turning my head to the left to see that tray- not exactly full of it, but with breakfast on it- standing on the nightstand.

"I thought you said the fridge was empty." I say- improvising, because I am not sure I want him to leave me alone with this- with myself.

"Yeah, it was- almost," he starts saying as I feel he's changing his seat in bed- now sitting on the bedside, somewhere below my legs- probably watching the same things I'm watching, "but since I believe it's past one already, I've had plenty of time to stock it up."

"Oh," I mumble- not because I'm surprised by what Chris just told me- since I'm not, really- I went to bed a lot later than he knows of- and fell asleep when the night was most likely over already- I guess I would just never tell him that that is the case- and that's why I act surprised myself.

"I thought it would be best if I'd let you sleep since you said you were tired yesterday." he continues- almost as if he's answering something I asked, as he begins piercing his eyes into me in a way I'm not quite sure I want him looking at me- actually, I would rather not having him looking at me _at all_ right now.

I nod slowly- dumbly, even, glancing down at my hands that I am so clumsily fumbling with before almost immediately turning my glare upwards again- the smell of breakfast- something edible, hits my senses- somehow making my gut wrench.

"It may be a little late for breakfast though, don't you think?" I say, not having any other intention than leading this conversation into a different direction than where I feel we were almost recently heading.

"Probably," he says, interrupting himself by chuckling lightly, "you don't have to eat it, actually, I thought we'd go out and grab something way better for lunch today."

Normally- most days, I don't think I would even hesitate to follow him- and I think he knows that as well as I do, but now that I am not even completely sure of whether I'm actually that normal anylonger or not- I _am_ hesitating.

"Oh- I'm sorry, Chris- I don't think I can, I've got this terrible headache- you know." I state so numbly- and untruthfully, that I can't barely recognise myself- not even sure why I don't just go with him- tell him _yes_ already, actually almost hoping he'll see right through me- that he would see _everything_ so that I wouldn't have to do this.

"Hey-" He continues speaking- stops, and raises up. I automatically can't help but gazing toward his direction- feeling sure of that he's turning his back on me this time until he faces me and lays his hand on my arm. "don't be sorry- besides," He trails his hand down and up my upper arm slowly, I know we're both watching it- the way it sends me light shivers- pushing through the fabric of my shirt and into- under, my skin- though that, of course, can't be seen visually. "Claire expects me to come by, I think she had some trouble with her TV so she wants me to try to fix it."

He rolls his eyes and- I don't even know how long I have been staring at him like this, as he offers me that same humble- carefree, stupid- yet _wonderful_, smile again and, this time while seeing him smiling like that for me- it hurts- it almost kills me inside, to be honest, because I know I haven't done anything to deserve it, and- I just don't feel good at all.

I shudder slightly as he abruptly removes his hand from my upper arm, turns around, and starts walking. Part of me just wants to grab that shirt he's wearing, grasp anything- even throw myself around his leg, to make him not to go- to turn around again- take me in his arms, and tell me everything is going to be alright. It's silly- it's dumb, but I believe the things I'm already doing are actually worse- hardly better, anyway.

"And oh, Piers- I got a few aspirins left in one of the kitchen drawers, take those if you need." he says, standing in the doorway- already having his boots on, struggling with getting his jacket right while throwing it on.

"Thanks," I squeak, I nod several times- possibly too many times, as I try smiling.

"When I get back later- and if you're feeling better, we'll rent a movie, order a pizza- some chinese, or whatever you'd like to, alright?" he says- shows some teeth while smiling, which he rarely does, and my chest immediately feels further weighed down.

I open my mouth, and close it right away- I don't even bother doing it more than once, because I don't want to say anything- I _can't_ say anything- I'm not sure what would get through if I did.

Thankfully, he doesn't seem to wait around for me to answer, or do anything at all, really- he simply waves at me, motions slowly with his hand, before disappearing in the hallway.

I inhale deeply, and as I hear the front door close- I breathe out, pulling my legs tightly onto my chest, and press my forehead against my knees so hard my head almost bursts. Literally, I don't know what I'm doing, and probably, I _will _take some of those aspirins anyway.


End file.
